The Thing About Art
by Letta
Summary: Naruto was just trying to leave Earth Country when he got sidetracked by an explosive blonde. DeidaraNaruto.


Title: The Thing About Art

Author: Letta

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: yaoi/shounen-ai, I had trouble making these two somewhat… like themselves…? I've taken a liberty with Deidara's appearance (nothing major, not really, at least).

A/N: Wow, I cannot believe how hard this actually was. I still don't know why it was so hard. The mood also changes suddenly on me, and I don't really know how to fix it.

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Naruto rapidly found that he didn't care for Earth Country. It was colder here than the tropical climate he was used to in Konoha, for one. The other reason was he kept running into strange people.

Well, one strange person… on his way _out_ of Earth Country.

Most people let exaggeration slide.

Someone who was blowing rocks up while muttering to themselves, however, definitely fit into the category of strange. He was going to take a wide arc around them (having the unfortunate luck to only see this person after coming over the crest of a hill right before the first explosion and then remain indecisive about the course of action for the second). Before he could put his plan into action, however, the other person spoke.

"Do you like my work? I think it's rather beautiful myself, un."

Something about this person rang a bell.

The blonde didn't bother to turn around to speak, either.

Having come up from behind, Naruto couldn't see _his_ face, as he had decided from the voice that it was male, but he could see long blonde hair, partly tied up on top of his head. Also, the guy was missing part of his arm, a wooden puppet's appendage protruding from bandages wrapped around his elbow. Whoever had made the arm had been rather skilled, the fingers and hand looked almost real, if not for the ball joint that composed the wrist.

Naruto looked at the destruction the two explosions had wrought over the terrain. Large rocks were now much smaller rocks… and some part dust.

_Was the destruction supposed to be his _work…

He said the first thing that entered his brain, even though past experiences (and on occasion, Sakura's fist) had told him this was not always a wise idea.

"I think you're insane."

"Pfft. Many geniuses are, but more often, that thinking comes about because the art is not understood, un."

Naruto was pretty sure it was more than him just not understanding the art.

Also, if the guy was declaring himself to be a genius, Naruto wanted more proof on that, unless the meaning of genius had changed to 'crazy' when he wasn't watching.

The man put his hand on his hip, the other coming up to shield his eyes from the sun (Naruto assumed, because he couldn't see for certain at his vantage point).

Then he turned around, and Naruto saw blue eyes, a somewhat familiar face, and a scratched-out Stone hitae-ate.

As they stared at each other, eyes widening like reflections of each other, Naruto felt a distinct shiver run down his back.

This man was one of the Akatsuki members that had kidnapped Gaara.

Naruto felt his heart stop for an instant, wondering if he had wandered into a trap.

In retrospect, he maybe should have come to that little revelation (about the guy being Akatsuki) sooner. After all, the man was blowing up rocks with _clay_, and _he_ _only had one arm._ Times like these made Naruto realize why people thought he was dense.

"You're that jinchuuriki!"

"You're in the Akatsuki!"

For a moment, neither did anything.

It was as if time had stood still and even the air around them refused to move, if not for the labor of their lungs.

Judging by the missing-nin's obvious surprise, it seemed like it wasn't a trap… for the moment.

Then the man/boy (because Naruto was not good at judging age) picked up the small bag that until now had remained unnoticed by his feet (explosions stole the spotlight on that one) and swung it over his shoulder.

"I'm not on the mission to take you in right now, un."

As if it were as simple as that.

Naruto was one of those simple people that was too complicated ( in a simple sort of way) for their own good, though, so it really wasn't with so much surprise that when the enemy shinobi began to walk away, he called out for him to wait.

The blonde with one visible eye stopped and looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in question, but he did not turn around.

So Naruto walked up to him, ignoring the bits of rubble that had spattered onto the path (and any sense of self-preservation), stopped a meter away and said nothing –which was rare for him.

"Did you actually want something, or are you wasting my time?"

And Naruto answered as honestly as he could.

"I'm not sure."

This time, the former Stone nin did turn around, and pinned Naruto was a critical artist's gaze. Turning him over and inside out, twisting him around with a single, assessing stare.

If Naruto ever were to feel self-conscious, this would have been an appropriate time, but instead, he dropped his own pack off of his shoulders, letting it fall onto the dusted ground.

As if he had started a chain reaction of only two sequences, the artist dropped his bag as well, before stepping forward, and placing outstretched arms on Naruto's shoulders, head leaning in slightly as his eye narrowed, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Hands covered in dried clay, one wooden –a puppet's mockery- the other flesh, though scarred, with twisted skin disguised by layers of his artist's medium, reached up to Naruto's face. They clutched at his chin, the back of his head, turning him slightly, in different directions.

"You have unusual features."

Naruto thought he could have said that about _him_, and had more of a leg to stand on.

He would be right.

"I'm going to sculpt you."

He was not asking for permission, so Naruto felt no need to give it to him. He allowed his arms and legs to be moved into a stance that he oddly found familiar, one his body turned to often enough when he was home in Konoha –hands behind his head (tilted skyward) feet shoulder-width apart and not quite in the same step.

He watched from tilted eyes, the situation feeling wholly off-kilter. It certainly wouldn't be going in the mission report. Clay formed, shaped, administered to by quick, skilled hands. In minutes, his outline showed, sketchy, unrefined, but unmistakable.

So he loosened his posture, brought his hands down to his pockets, and watched, having never been able to stay in the same position for long. The former Stone nin didn't seem to care that his model had shifted, appearing to go off of instinct and quick glances.

Naruto was amazed as his likeness showed through, recognizable and familiar, somehow feeling like a part of him had been captured by a stranger and frozen in what he considered naturally 'sticky dirt'.

It was fascinating and maybe a little creepy.

After a minute or two more, the cycloptic blonde stepped away, judging his own work, that was half the life-size.

"It won't stop anyone who's walking by unless they pay attention to it, un."

Naruto was surprised to realize he knew exactly what the Akatsuki nin meant.

"Step back," the sculptor said, moving away himself. Naruto woodenly followed, fazed by never having viewed himself as art before.

Ten meters away, Deidara stopped, and Naruto halted with him. He turned around as the artist flew through a few seals, his own body coiling with tension for an attack, but startling when instead, the molding of him erupted into flying chunks of damp clay and smoke.

And still, despite their distance, they both flew through the air, landing solidly on the ground.

Naruto's eyes widened in surprise, even as he told himself he should have expected it. He certainly felt more like he was going to be attacked, assuming being thrown off his own feet by an explosion wasn't an attack.

He glanced over at the cloak-less Akatsuki, saw his leg was bleeding, but a pleased smile spreading across his face, as he watched smoke wisps disappear in the sky. "True art, un."

He must have given him an incredulous look.

"You probably think true art is something that is considered 'timeless', lasting for ages, hm?"

"I'm not much of an art critic," Naruto replied, half wondering why he hadn't left yet. Or run.

"Everyone is a critic, whether they admit it or not. If you like something or dislike something, that is because you have already critiqued it, un."

"Well… all I really know is that just because it's in a museum doesn't mean it's any good. It usually just means the artist is dead." This was a conclusion Naruto had drawn years ago when Jiraiya had dragged him to an Art History Museum because he needed more 'culture'. He had told Jiraiya the same thing, but the toad sennin hadn't been listening, his attention otherwise engaged.

Naruto thought it odd how his need for culture coincided with the museum's stunt to pull in patrons with a half off admission for women.

Well, maybe not so odd.

"So which do you think, un?"

"Which… what?"

"What is art? Something timeless or something fleeting, un?"

Naruto was silent for several moments. He felt like he should actually give it some consideration of what he thought art was.

"Things lost have greater beauty, especially over time," he said, the image of a dark haired teammate flickering briefly through his mind.

He wasn't much for poetic words, but sometimes he managed to say exactly what he meant.

"I agree, un," Deidara said after a moment, then rolled onto his side, ignoring his bleeding leg, to look at Naruto. "Though sometimes, the lasting effect of loss is beautiful, too."

Then Deidara was grabbing the front of Naruto's vest, roughly pulling him over before suddenly pressing his mouth against the Konoha nin's.

Naruto felt grit and chapped skin and thought he tasted a little dirt, but although it was somewhat messy and unperfected, it was somehow better than any other kiss he could recall being a participant of.

Rough hands gripped at him, and clumsily tangled with his clothes, the uncomfortable jab of wooden fingers only a side note.

Strands of hair slid through his fingers, coarse fabric under his palm made him realize that he had grabbed back, had probably let this enemy fall into his open arms.

There were rocks digging into his back -some painfully sharp, dirt embedding into his clothes, and dust filling his nose, but the body against his was warm and softer than the harsh landscape around them.

Then it was gone, and his felt a distinct sense of loss.

"There is also beauty in things that are beyond our grasp," Deidara said, one corner of his mouth twisting up just that much, and he stood, grabbed his cloak from where he had laid it on a rock and walked away.

Naruto knew exactly what he meant.

As he walked away, a slight limp in the step of his injured leg, Naruto knew there was also a tragic beauty in what could never be perfect.

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A/N: I ended up having to keep it as simple as I could. Someday maybe I'll have a real fic about these two.

Gaara crushed Deidara's left hand, Kakashi blew off part of his right arm. For the sake of this story, skilled doctors healed his mangled left hand, actually, it doesn't really matter too much, because in the most recent chapters he has at least one arm.

This was tough. I finished it a while ago and hated it, but I just read it over again and kind of liked it, so I'm posting it. This all started because I asked Tsubaki-hana for a DeiNaru fic trade. I wonder if she thinks I forgot.

Oh, and I know in my drabble series, I had Deidara blowing up clay figures also, but I just think it's something Deidara would do.

Here's my summary of this fic: They meet randomly. Deidara blows up a statue of Naruto. They talk about art.


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